Waiting For You
by SailorCheesy
Summary: England is an angel, dead for three years, in love with America, who is alive. He is granted two months to get America to say those three little words, and he can live on Earth again. If he doesn't? His wings will become permanent. But, will America let England into his heart? And what if he falls in love with someone else? Rated T because I'm paranoid. I do not own Hetalia!
1. Falling out of the sky

England sighs deeply and sits criss-cross-applesauce in mid-air, places his chin on his palm, and stares at the retreating American's back. _How he longs to be there._ England had died three years ago today, and America seems to have forgotten. _Why would he remember? He barely ever paid any attention to me when I was alive,_ the Brit thinks sadly.

America reaches into his pocket and pulls out his car keys. England stops floating and gets into the car, stepping straight through the passengers' side door and sitting down on the black, leather seat. He glances over at America, whose usual grin and sparkling eyes are replaced by a thin-lined mouth and mournful eyes.

"What's wrong?" England asks, suddenly sad.

Of course, America doesn't respond, just puts his keys in the ignition of the car and turns on the radio. _Moves Like Jagger_ starts playing. America sighs and turns the radio off, he doesn't want to be happy on a day like this. He pulls out of the World Meeting driveway and starts down the road.

After about twenty minutes, he pulls into a cemetery. The cemetery where England is buried. The American reaches into the back seat of his car. His hands close around a bouquet of flowers-Tudor Roses-then he gets out of the car, his head hung low.

England slips through the door and follows America as he walks towards his grave. America's eyes glint with tears. He takes off the hat he was wearing and drops onto the grass off to the side of his grave.

_Here lies Arthur Kirkland, _

_Good friend, lover of tea. _

_Unknown-2010_

America sets the roses down so that they lean on the grave. He takes off his glasses, which are wet with tears that had pooled up in his eyes and spilled over, then slid along the black rim of his glasses and onto the Earth.

"Happy death-day," America chokes out, "I wonder what it's like in Heaven. Probably nice."

"You're my Heaven." England says dreamily.

"I'm sorry I've never come by before... I-I just miss you so much!" America sniffles.

"I miss you too," England says.

"I brought you these roses... They're your national flower. 'Course, you already know that."

England smiles lightly.

America sits down on the ground. "I love you, you know?"

England's heart beats faster, and his face turns red.

"I mean, I loved you." America adds sadly.

"How? Did you love me like, love love, or like, brother/son type of thing?" England asks desperately, kneeling in front of America.

The blue-eyed nation shivers and pulls his jacket tighter around him. "Why did you have to leave so soon?"

"I didn't want to. I want to be there, right next to you, forever."

"Would you be upset if I told you sometimes I wanted to die, too, just so I could be closer to you?" America asks nobody.

England freezes, shocked. "Alfred Foster Jones! Don't you _ever_ say that _again_ in my presence!"

America stares blankly. "I don't think anyone would really miss me all that much."

"Yes they would! Death is a horrible thing! Stop it!"

"There's something I never told you."

"What?" England asks.

"I'm sorry," America whispers, "I'm sorry for everything. The Revolution, calling you names, playing pranks... Everything. Maybe you'd still be here if it wasn't for me being such a jerk. Maybe you were so unhappy with your life because of me you just..."

"Oh, America-"

"It should have been me!" America cries, digging his nails into the grass. "I should have been in that car! I should have crashed three years ago! You should have been home, reading a book and drinking tea! You shouldn't be here, stuck in this stupid grave!" America rips the tiny blades of grass from the Earth and throws them as far as possible. "It's my fault!" He buries his face in his hands and starts to cry.

England moves closer and wraps his arms around the American. "It's not your fault. You were the only reason I _wanted _ to live. You were the only thing that kept me going each day. I want to be near you all the time, not the opposite."

"And now, I'm here, at your grave, and I'm probably bothering your body! You're supposed to be resting in peace and I'm sitting here and complaining about how much I miss you! Why? Why couldn't you have stayed a little longer?"

England rocks back and forth slightly, and America rests his head on England's chest unknowingly, still crying loudly. "I wish we could trade places." He says through his tears.

* * *

"What's wrong, my child?" A soft, gentle voice asks. A woman with long, flowing, caramel colored hair descends from some white clouds, her puffy, white dress billowing out behind her. She smiles softly and reaches out with delicate fingers, which she places on the Brit's shoulder.

"I'm in love." He says simply.

"Love is a thing to be joyful about, not mournful." She says back, her voice tinkling like beautiful bells and her soft amber eyes glittering.

"But he walks among the Earth..."

"My child, how could you have fallen in love with him if you cannot speak to him?" She asks curiously.

"I knew him when I was alive. He is a nation, like I once was."

"Which one?" She asks kindly.

"America..."

"My dear, you love the man with honey-colored hair and eyes brighter than the oceans themselves?"

"I cherish him more than my own life."

"And does he feel the same about you?"

"He visited my grave yesterday, and he said he loved me, but I raised him, as you know, so it could very well be that he loves me as a son loves his father." England sighs.

"I will grant you two months on Earth. If you can get him to pronounce his love to you in that time, I shall let you live, and breathe again."

"Really?"

"Really. But, you will have to take on the appearance of another. You shall be given hair as red as your blood, and eyes as blue as the sky. You will be called Kingsley."

"Why?"

"He must open his heart to others."

"But it will still be me on the inside, why can't I just show him?"

"He has to learn to love again."

"What happens if-"

"If you tell him who you really are, you will be immediately taken to my palace, and your wings shall become permanent." She snaps her fingers, and the wings disappear from his back.

Instantly, the ground flies out from underneath him. He's falling. He begins to scream. He sees lights, cars, and people far below him. _We were above New York City, _England thinks as he falls.

He clutches his clothes, only to find that, instead of his robes, he is wrapped in only a thin, white, blanket, made of the silkiest material. He pulls it downward as he screams, clutching the cloth desperately. His now-blue eyes glint with tears. _I'm going to hit the ground and die. Again. _

A certain blonde looks up, one hand on his forehead so as to protect his eyes, which are squinting, from the harsh rays of the sun.

"HELP!" England screams against the wind. He's now only a hundred feet from the ground.

America opens his arms, bracing for impact of the person falling from the sky, a white sheet billowing around them like a cloud.

England squeezes his eyes shut tightly, bracing himself for the sidewalk.

* * *

**My new story! Yay! You know, the one I talked about in Wounded? My _other_ USUK story? XD If you haven't read Wounded, then this is not important. Anyway, I think I'm really going to enjoy writing this story, I hope y'all enjoy reading it! **


	2. Lots of passing out

The red-haired man falls into Alfred's arms, his eyes squeezed shut tightly. The silky sheet billows out around him, and the American's vision is temporarily obscured. He lets out a small "Whoa!" and pulls England into him, so he doesn't drop the smaller man.

"Did you just jump off the Empire State Building?!" America asks worriedly.

England finds himself unable to speak. _America is holding him. He's alive. He can touch America. He can talk to America. He can have a relationship with America. _

"Are you alright?" America asks.

England's head falls backwards and his eyes close, a blissful smile on his face.

* * *

England wakes up in a strange room. The walls are covered with posters of the most famous monuments of each of the fifty states, there's a _SpongeBob _alarm clock on the dresser, along with three pairs of the same glasses, some assorted papers, and a framed picture of fifty-one people, ranging from tweens, to teenagers, to early adults. And there, in between all the smiling faces of them, is America, his blue eyes twinkling with delight and smile so wide his face looks as if it's about to crack open.

Next to it is a picture of himself and America. America has his arm slung lazily over the Brit's shoulder, his blue eyes twinkling the same way as the other picture, his glasses slightly tilted. You can see the edge of his brown bomber jacket arm, which had been holding the camera. America had called it a 'selfie', England recalls. England had been smiling, a light pink dusting his cheeks at the closeness of America's face to his in the picture, and a stack of papers was clutched tightly in his hands.

He glances at the another wall, which is entirely taken up by a giant map of the world. There are millions of multicolored pins dotting the surface of the pin. England assumes this is America's was of keeping track of all the places he's been.

In the wall directly in front of him is a large bookshelf, filled with literally hundreds of classic books. Next to this is the door.

And, on the last wall is fifty close-up pictures, each one with a different state name. One of the states, Wisconsin, catches England's eye. She has light, short, brown hair, and deep, brown-almost black-eyes. Her smile is bright, just like America's. Also like America, she has black-rimmed glasses. She seems to be about seventeen or eighteen in this picture. England smiles back as though she could see him.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed just as America walks in, holding a tray with salmon, a cookie, some fruit salad, and a glass of milk on it, also with silverware and a napkin.

"Oh, you're awake." America states, "You gave me quite a scare yesterday. Y'know, falling off the Empire State Building and then passing out and stuff... In only a sheet..."

"W-Well I was... Um... I was accidentally pushed out the window while I was getting dressed." England says.

"You were getting dressed in the Empire State Building?" America questions.

"Well, I was changing because a person had accidentally spilled coffee on me, and I happened to have a spare suit, but then somebody came barging in, so I grabbed the sheet in attempt to cover myself, and the person who had barged in tripped and bumped into me. Alas, I was by the window, which I had not realized was open, and I fell through." England explains.

"Oh. Will anybody be worried?"

"No. I was just kind of hanging out there." He shrugs.

"Okay... Well, I asked my daughter to make this for you, so... Here you are, uh..."

"Kingsley."

"Here you are, Kingsley." America says with a friendly smile.

"Thanks." England looks down at himself, realizing he is no longer wrapped in a sheet, but is instead wearing some of his old clothes-A brown vest over a purple-and-white-striped shirt and a pair of brown trousers. "Did you... Uh... Change me into this?" He asks, his face tuning crimson.

America laughs, "No, dude! My daughter did!"

"Y-Your daughter saw me... _Naked?"_

"Aw, don't worry, she has a girlfriend."

"A girlfriend?" England asks curiously.

England had always thought America was against same-sex couples... Part of the reason why he was so nervous about admitting his feelings to America in the first place.

"Yeah. Please don't tell me you're one of those people who is against same-sex couples."

"No! No, I'm not. Not at all."

"Cool. Anyway, she found some clothes a friend of mine had left over here sometime when he had stayed the night 'r something. She said they fit you perfectly, bro."

"How odd..." England says. Though, it's not odd to him, really. He had been _looking _for this shirt! The queen had told him she preferred it over the other ones he owned.

"Also, my daughter's like, a doctor, sorta, and she told me you should probably stay here for a while, if you want and get some rest... Or I could totally get you a hotel room or something for a few nights. I'm assuming you're just staying in America for a little while?"

"Well... Sort of..." England mumbles.

"Oh. So, hotel room?"

"No, I'll stay here. You don't have to spend any extra money on me. I mean, I'll stay if it's not too much trouble, of course."

"Did you have a hotel room already?"

"No. I didn't really bring anything with me. I was planning on just finding one tonight... It was sort of a risk I took. I decided I'd stay here for a two months and if I didn't like it..."

"You'd go back to the U.K.?"

"Something like that." England answers.

"Oh. Well, if you don't got any place to go, y'can stay here for those two months." America shrugs. "I have like, ten guest bedrooms. I just brought you in here because it was the closest to the door, and I had to walk all the way back here carrying you, 'cuz I couldn't get a taxi." America explains.

"Alright. Thank you very much. Um, I'll help you pay for thing when you need it... I should probably find a job..."

"Oh, man, I can find ya one easily! Whatcha into?"

"I like reading..." England says.

"How 'bout a bookstore, then?" America suggests.

"That sounds really good... Um... How come you're doing all this for me, even though we just met?"

Something flashes in America's eyes, and a sad smile takes over his face. "Well, I once had a friend, the one whose clothes you're wearing, and I was a jerk to him, and I regret it a lot, so now I try to help others."

England blinks. "You weren't a jerk to him."

"What?" America says, looking at him.

"Nothing." England says. But he really wanted to say... _You were never a jerk to me, America. Never. I cherished every moment with you. Don't ever regret the time you spent with me, I know I never will. _

* * *

America opens his eyes the next morning and walks to the kitchen, his fluffy _SpongeBob _slippers padding lightly on the carpeted floor of his house, then onto the tiled of his kitchen. He lazily pulls a pan from the kitchen and then a carton of eggs. _I'll make them for Kingsley,_ he thinks. Kingsley... Kingsley was undeniably handsome, although not as handsome as someone else America had once known, but still... And he appeared to be really happy to be around America... What was that about? And he had a totally _hot_ accent.

Someone else walks into the kitchen. "G'Morning."

America jumps, which sends the pan flying through the air. He whips around just in time to see the pan flying into the top of Kingsley's head, his eyes wide and his hands frozen mid-way through straightening his tie.

"Shit!" America yells.

Kingsley falls backward, his blue eyes rolling backward into his head. His hands fall from his tie and limp at his sides and he slams onto the floor with a faint _thud!_

"Aw, fuck! Kingsley, can you hear me?" America asks, leaning over the man.

"...'Merica..." He mumbles, his eyes rolling in and out focus as Flying Mint Bunny circles above his head.

America blinks, "How did you know that I'm...?"

"My... Head..." Kingsley says.

"Oh my god are you okay?! I am so so sorry!" America says worriedly.

England smiles dazedly, "I love you."

"That's great. Lemme get you on the couch..." America grabs England from under the arms and pulls him upward, hugging the Brit close to him. He drags him into the living room and sets him on the couch. Then he runs back into the kitchen and fills a glass with water and ice. When he returns, England is stumbling dizzily around the living room. "No, Kingsley, sit down, alright?" America says soothingly, putting his hands on the shorter man's shoulders and guiding him to the couch, then gently pushing him down onto it.

"But..."

"Just drink this water and lie down for a little while." He says, rubbing England's back and sitting down next to him.

England closes his eyes once again.

* * *

"Ah, damn it! Another day wasted!" England says angrily, pacing back and forth in the guest bedroom and rubbing his head tenderly. He walks out into the living room, where America is sitting on the couch, his legs splayed lazily over the arm of it, and casually sucking on a popsicle. He jumps up when he sees Kingsley.

"You're up!" He says with a smile.

"Yeah..." England replies.

"Kingsley, I am _so_ _sorry. _I swear to god I had absolutely no intention of hitting you with a frying pan! Dude, I feel horrible! Please forgive me!" America says, throwing the popsicle in

"It's fine..."

"No, seriously, let me make it up to you! What do you want to do today?"

"Uh..."

"C'mon, anything. Go wild." America grins.

"Well... How about we just... Get to know each other better?" England suggests.

"Alright." America plops back down on the couch, then pats the space next to him. England sits down next to him, his cheeks turning an almost un-noticeable shade of pink. "Let's ask questions back and forth about each other." America says.

"Okay. You go first." England nods.

"Okay... What's your favorite color?"

"Baby blue." England says. Translation: _The color of your eyes. _"Okay, now it's my turn. What's your favorite genre of music?"

"I like Rock n' Roll, Classical, and Japanese, mostly. Jap-I mean, Kiku, got me addicted to the Japanese music."

"Oh." _I didn't know America liked classical or Japanese..._

"What's your favorite book?" America asks.

"My favorite book would be '_A Tale of Two Cities' _by Charles Dickens." England replies.

"That's a good book. First written in 1859, right?"

"Yes, I do believe so." England says, quite surprised America even reads, let alone knows the specific publishing date of the book.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness..." America quotes from the book.

"What's your favorite book?" England asks.

"_'To Kill A Mockingbird' _by Harper Lee." America smiles.

England abruptly groans, rubbing his head as the bump starts to throb.

"Do you need an ice pack?" America asks, "I'll go get one!" He rushes out of the room, and England can't help but turn around and check out DAT ASS as the Americn walks out of the room.


	3. America's second love interest

England has already wasted four days, and he's been passed out for the majority of them, what with the frying pan and the 'falling off the Empire State Building' incident. He runs his hands through his hair and paces back and forth. God, how the _hell_ is he going to get America to fall in love with him? He still needs to get a job _and_ learn how to find his way around New York! Plus, the American's are all obnoxious and stupid! Except for America... No, no, England couldn't think like that. If America was a good person, so were his people.

He leans against the wall. He should probably talk to America about that bookstore offer... After all, he wasn't going to let America pay for everything while he stayed here, despite the American's offers. _"You can just stay here, really, Kingsley. I have plenty of money, and I'd gladly help you out." _He had said with a smile. England had politely refused, saying he couldn't just take his money like that. It had surprised the Brit that America was being so kind, because, for some reason, he just didn't think the American was so generous.

America was so different from England thought he was in quite a few ways, actually. They had talked yesterday for a long time, and England had learned a lot of interesting things about America. Like his love for classical composers, or his passion for literature and art. (Especially Pop Art.) America was, as expected, very into food, though. Literally. He had basically shoved his face into a burger last night at dinner, to which England had chuckled. It used to annoy him, America being so messy, but how could he be annoyed when he was here again, staying with America? He couldn't be. The saying really was true: _You never know what you have until it's gone._

England pushes himself from the wall and walks into the bathroom, which is joined to his bedroom, and looks into the mirror. His reflection makes him jump. How could he get used to seeing a man with fiery red hair and bright blue eyes, instead of himself? Although, this appearance must be much more attractive to America. Who would want someone with such pale blonde hair, and skin to match? Perhaps the only thing England had liked about the way he really looked was his eyes. Oh, well, now he has a more appealing appearance. Maybe, if America _does _fall in love with him, he can ask The Protector to let him keep this new form.

He splashes water on his face and picks up a comb, then uses it to brush out his now naturally curly hair. The comb does little to help it stay in place. He sighs and walks over to the closet in a pair of United Kingdom boxer shorts, which he had left at America's house, along with several suits, pajamas, tea cups, books, etc.. He opens the wooden doors of the closet and grabs the most professional-yet-casual-looking clothes he can find. It's a green outfit, which he had used to wear a lot, when he was still... Well, alive.

He pulls it on, then walks out into the hallway, which has a blue carpet with stars on it, and walls painted red-and-white stripes. England smiles at America's pride for his country and pushes open a swinging door into the kitchen, where America stands with his back turned, singing a song in some other language while swaying lightly back and forth, a spatula in one hand and a black apron with the words '_I heart NY' _on it. He flips the pancake into the air and takes the lid off a boiling teapot, his brows furrowing.

"I hope Kingsley likes this... He is British, right?" America mumbles. England smiles as he sits down, about to say something, when America starts to sing. "Dango, Dango, Dango, Dango, Dango, Daikazoku." He repeats this again, then starts speaking something England categorizes as complete gibberish.

Then, the teapot lets out an ear-splitting screech that echoes through kitchen. America doesn't hear because of his headphones, so England stands up and walks to the teapot. His shoulder brushes America's and an involuntary shiver runs up his spine. He turns pink and takes the pot off the stove, grabs a cloth and puts on the table, then puts the top on top of it.

America pulls the headphones out of his ears and turns around "Kingsley! How long have you-" He stops when he sees what Kingsley is wearing. Then he mumbles "...Been here..."

England looks at him curiously, "Is something wrong?"

"N-no it's just... You... Your outfit..." America trails off and turns his attention back to a now-burnt pancake.

England looks down at it. It's just the outfit he used to wear a lot... Nothing special about it. All the same, he says, "I'm sorry. I can change if you want... I hope you don't mind me asking, but why?"

"You don't have to change. It's nothing." He shakes his head, as if to clear his head, "How many pancakes do you want?"

"Two is fine, thank you." England says, slightly disappointed.

"Comin' right up!" America smiles, flipping two pancakes expertly on a plate, then sliding it across the table and to England. He then stacks more pancakes on his plate than England can count and sits down across the table.

England spreads a little butter on his pancakes and then lightly drizzles maple syrup over them. He then tops it off with a little powdered sugar. America slaps butter on the top of his mound of pancakes, then uses about half the bottle of maple syrup on the stack, finishing it off by spreading peanut butter all over them. England chuckles lightheartedly and pours some tea into a cup, then sips it in between small bites of pancakes. America, on the other hand, shovels the pancakes into his mouth as if he hasn't eaten in a hundred years. He looks up at England and smiles, a bit of maple syrup dripping down his chin.

England leans over and wipes it away with his napkin, crimson spreading across his cheeks. America turns even redder than England and focuses his attention back to his plate with a smile.

Why was he blushing? It was just a simple little touch... Yet, America can't help but feeling that he got a little jolt of excitement when they had brushed shoulders, and again a few seconds ago...

"So, are you gonna go for that job today?" America asks, finishing off the rest of his pancakes and standing up.

"Yes, I was planning on it." England answers, starting on his second pancake.

"Cool. Um... If you want, I could hail a cab and give them the address... Then all you'd have to do is say Mr. Alfred Foster Jones recommended you, and they'll give you the position."

"If you're not busy I'd rather you come with... I'm not so great with words."

"Ha! I'm never busy! 'Cept for Wednesdays."

"It's Wednesday today..."

"Oh, well, whatever." America shrugs.

* * *

England stands behind the counter of the book store and punches in the price for each of the five books the girl on the other side of the counter is buying while America watches from nearby.

"Your total is fifty-seven dollars and forty-six cents." The Brit says with a smile.

America watches them curiously. The girl is pretty cute, with black hair in two side ponytails that come all the way down to her waist, round glasses pushed down her nose that partially cover up her hazel eyes, and she has a small, petite frame. Yet, 'Kingsley' doesn't seem the least bit interested in her. America focuses back to the task at hand: re-alphabetizing and shelves.

The bell on the door rings, signaling someone has just entered the store.

"Alfredka!" A familiar Russian voice calls.

America walks out from between the shelves. "Oh, hey, Ivan." He says nonchalantly.

"Alfredka, why weren't you at your house?"

America shrugs, "I was just training Kingsley for the job." He jerks his head towards Kingsley.

With that, America turns his attention back to the shelves, and Russia casually strolls over to the counter. He narrows his eyes at the shorter man in front of him.

"Hello." He says.

"'Ello." England says, more than a little afraid of Russia. _Was America dating him? _

"Listen up," Russia says, his voice no more than a whisper, "Alfredka is mine. And if I find that you are distracting him from me again... Let's just say it won't end well for you. I make myself clear, da?"

England trembles, but holds his ground. "You can't have him."

Russia chuckles, "Ah, finally, someone who will fight for his affections." He smiles innocently, "Only one person can win, Kingsley. And that person will be me."

"Whatcha guys talkin' about?" America asks, bounding over to them with a smile.

"I was just asking Kingsley what kind of music he likes!" Russia smiles and slings his arm over the American's shoulder, making America's face flush crimson. He giggles childishly and asks, "Would you like to come over to my place today?"

"Sounds great, as always! But, oh no! I forgot my jacket!" America exclaims, looking genuinely disappointed.

_Sick, _England thinks, _America deserves someone more refined. Someone more like me. He deserves me. I'm what's best for him. _

"You can just use mine." Ivan smiles and shrugs out of his coat, then hands it to America. He puts it on with a smile and a light blush. The coat comes down to almost his ankles, a sight that makes both England and Russia chuckle.

"It's very soft," America muses.

"Da, I know. Why don't we get going, then?" Russia asks, pulling America closer.

"Oh, wait! I still need to give Kingsley my address!" America grabs some Post-It notes from the desk along with a pencil and scribbles down an address, then hands it to 'Kingsley.' He also reaches inside his pocket and hands him a twenty. "This should get you back to my place... Oh! And here's your key!" America tosses England a key, and is gone.

England sighs. Another few people come in, so he puts the things America gave him into his pocket.

A girl, who looks to be about twenty, walks up to the counter with a shy smile and a pink tint in her slightly chubby cheeks. England can see the top of her shirt, which has _The Beatles: Abbey Road _and the top of four men's heads, but nothing else because of the counter.

"E-Excuse me, but you look like a person who likes to read a lot, so... Could you... Maybe recommend any good books?" She asks, her sandy blonde hair falling into her face and obscuring her enchantingly beautiful blue eyes.

"Of course! But, um, I have actually not been in an English-speaking country in a while," He lies easily, "So how about you and I go looking for a book together, and if I see something I recognize, I'll recommend it to you."

"O-Okay!" She squeaks, pulling the sleeves of her over-sized grey poncho over her hands as he comes out from behind the counter.

"What kind of books do you like?" He asks, looking down at her.

"I like _Sherlock Holmes, Anne of Green Gables, A Christmas Carol_... I like a lot of Edgar Allen Poe's things, too! Plus some of the more recent ones, like _Harry Potter _and _Tiger's Curse._" She turns redder and redder as she talks, as if embarrassed by this.

"I like a lot of those books. Let's go, then." He says, leading her deeper into the shelves.

* * *

England comes back to the apartment at about eleven o' clock that night. After helping the girl, whose name was Shannon, pick out some books, she had (very shyly and embarrassedly) asked him if he would like to go out for coffee, to which he had politely accepted. He had then walked her home, she had kissed his cheek, put something into his pocket, said "B-B-Bye!", and ran into her apartment. He had looked at what she put in his pocket as he was in the Taxi. It was her phone number. He smiled. She was very, very sweet, loved music and reading, knew French, Spanish, and Japanese, and was also a Mathematics major in college. But, even though she was also incredibly beautiful, she was just a piece of dust in the wind (not to be rude) next to America.

England turns the key in the lock and his immediately fall on America, who is shivering uncontrollably, even though he is wrapped up in a thick blanket. England immediately walks over to the couch and kneels beside him.

"Alfred? Are you okay?" He asks.

"Y-Yeah... I-I'm just a l-little c-cold is all..." He mumbles, pulling the blanket tighter around him.

England clenches his teeth to keep from screaming. Russia had taken America, who was hardly accustomed to the climate of the land, into Russia, without a damn coat! Was he stupid?! Of course America was going to get sick! The damn Russian bastard and his stupid cold climate! Who knows how long America was going to sit here and freeze to death like this?!

"I-It's really l-late.. You s-should go t-to be-ed." America says.

"That's ridiculous! And you're not just a 'little cold', you're freezing!" England scolds.

"I-I know b-but I'm used t-to it... Th-This happens al-l the t-time. I-I'm fine... P-Please d-don't worry!"

"Nonsense. I'll make some soup." England says.

"Th-Thanks." America smiles lightly.


	4. Got him good

**Hello! Author of the story here! I have received a comment saying England was a little OOC in the chapters, and that is what I was going for, so thank you! I want him to be a little nicer than he usually is, because he is taking the time to truly appreciate America, instead of wasting time pushing him away! I promise Iggy will be Iggy soon, though, as he starts getting used to being alive and living with America. **

* * *

England's next day is spent at the bookstore, where Shannon comes in and apologizes for last night, "I-I don't know if I made the wrong impression last night, like, if you thought I was flirting with you, but I have a boyfriend and I gave you my number because you had seemed like a good friend and..." She had said, to England's great relief.

Russia had also come into the bookstore looking for America, holding a bunch of roses in his gloved hands. When he had seen England at the counter, he had glared and stalked out the door again.

Next, England/Kingsley had went out to by a phone with some money borrowed from America, which he intended to pay back with his first paycheck._ "Oh, that's alright, Kingsley, you really don't have to."_ America had said, to which England had kindly rejected. He would pay America back. He couldn't just take his money like that.

Now, England was back at his and America's apartment. He puts the key in the lock and twists it. The door opens, revealing America, still shivering like crazy, his eyes squeezed shut tightly. England walks in and kneels beside the American again, then lightly shakes him awake.

"O-Oh... What t-time is it?" America asks, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

"Do you want me to make you something warm?" England asks with concerned eyes.

"N-no!" America exclaims, remembering the absolutely _horrible _soup he had tried to force down his throat the previous night, "I-I don't f-feel like e-eating."

"Oh.. Alright. Is there anything I can do?"

"W-Will you... Warm m-me up?" America asks.

"Wh-What?!" England stutters with wide eyes. _He's delirious because of his cold. He doesn't know what he's saying, _he thinks, _He's just being silly and he wants to get warmer is all. _

"Please?" America pleads.

"I really don't think that's a good idea! I can grab you a coffee from the café down the street if you really want something warm!" England protests, his face turning redder than one of Romano's fresh tomatoes.

"So... Cold..." America whimpers, closing his eyes.

England sighs, "Alright, but... But just for a minute!"

America nods and scoots towards the edge of the couch, giving England room to lay behind him. The red-haired man (very awkwardly) steps over America and onto the back of the couch, then eases himself next to the American.

"I-If you just s-sit there I w-won't get w-warmer." The blonde states.

"Well this is really awkward and I...!"

"H-here." America unwraps himself from the blanket and throws it onto the floor, then grabs England's arm and wraps it around himself, pulling the Brit so close his chest is pressed against America's back. America then grabs the blanket again and wraps it around the both of them. He smiles and mumbles, "You're warm. Just like England..."

* * *

The next morning, England opens his blue eyes and finds himself crammed between the back of the couch and America... Who he is nose to nose with. His breath catches in his throat and heat climbs from his cheeks to his ears. The blonde next to him has his mouth open, revealing his pearly white teeth, one leg overlaps both of England's and the back of the couch, the other one is hanging off the other side of the couch. One of his hands is being held in England's, and the other is on his chest.

England's eyes widen as America's open slightly and he mumbles, "G'Morning."

"Alfred, please let go... If you don't move I'm going to be late for work." England states, while thinking, _please don't let go._

"Oh..." America rolls off the couch and onto the floor, splaying his arms out on the floor lazily.

"I'll see you tonight?"

"Yeah..." America closes his eyes, "Ugh. Morning. Sorry you have to see this. There's muffins somewhere in my kitchen, probably."

"Bloody git." England mumbles as he looks at the American on the floor. He grabs his keys and phone off a glass table, then walks out the door.

America looks at the ceiling and says, with furrowed brows, "Kingsley is a lot like England, isn't he?"

* * *

England grins as Shannon walks in. "Is it almost time for this place to close? I want some coffee!" She exclaims, looking at him expectantly.

"Yeah, I was actually about to leave." 'Kingsley' says, his blue eyes looking into hers.

"Sweet!" She says as the Brit walks over to her.

"Okay, let's go."

"Sounds great!" She links her arm through his and drags him out.

Immediately a cool breeze hits England. He glances across the street, waiting for the cars to pass so they can go to the café, when he abruptly stops.

"Kingsley?" Shannon asks, then follows his gaze across the street. Her eyes land on two men, one with silver hair, one with blonde, sitting at a two-person table at the café. The blond is smiling, his mouth moving rapidly in between sips of coffee. The silver haired man had his back to the window, but his shoulders are shaking with laughter.

"...Alfred..." Kingsley mumbles, then sighs.

"Is one of them your boyfriend?" Shannon asks, moving some stray hair behind her ear, then focusing her attention back to the two men, who are now standing up to leave. The blonde hands his cup to the man with the scarf, who then throws it away, along with his own. Then, the man with the scarf puts his arm over the blonde's shoulder and leads him out of the café.

Shannon pulls Kingsley behind a dumpster to watch. The cars have, quite surprisingly, emptied the streets, making the blonde's and the scarf-guy's voices quite audible from across the street.

The scarfed man says, "Alfredka, you look so handsome when the street lights reflect onto you."

"Thanks, Ivan!" Blondie exclaims cheerfully, "Dude, we should _totally _go and see a movie! I heard there's this really good one about these aliens who want to blow up and Earth and-"

The blonde is cut off as the taller man leans down and presses his lips softly to his. The blonde's blue eyes widen beneath his glasses, and then tears well up in his eyes before he can stop them. He pulls back and sniffles.

"A-Alfred...?" Scarfie asks concernedly.

"I-I'm sorry... It's just... I-I... Can't be in a relationship... With anyone... I-I..."

"Was it something I said? I'm so sorry, Alfredka! I should have done that I-"

"No, no. The kiss was great, really," England's face falls, "But I just can't be with someone like that, after..."

Shannon glares. If scarfie was Kingsley's boyfriend, she was going to kill him for kissing another man. If Blondie was Kingsley's boyfriend, she was going to kill him for flirting with and leading scarfie on! Either way, she was going to kill someone.

"I have to go!" Blondie says, burying his face and running off in the other direction, leaving scarfie standing there looking very ashamed of himself.

"Is the blonde your boyfriend?" Shannon asks.

"I wish," England sighs, "I've been in love with him for a long time..."

"So you're in love with the blonde, but the silver-haired guy is trying to make a move on him?" Shannon looks back at Kingsley.

"I should go and do something..." He mumbles, as of in a trance, "God, he looks so hurt! I can't stand it!" He stands up.

"Blondie's got Kingsley wrapped around his finger," Shannon mumbles, grabbing Kingsley's wrist and yanking him back down, "Now just hold on. You have to make a plan. Blondie is feeling very sad, so now's your chance."

"Shannon, can we please just go see him!" Kingsley pouts, his blue eyes pleading.

"No! We have to think this over! All you have to do is swoop in and comfort him, then he's sure to be yours!" Shannon smiles.

"...Mine...?" England mumbles, as if the word is foreign to him.

"This is your chance, Kingsley! Hug him and comfort him, and then he'll fall in love with you!"

"But he's vulnerable!"

"That's the point! He'll be so vulnerable that you'll be his savior and then he'll fall in love!" Shannon smiles.

"But... I'd be taking advantage of him! That's not how I want him to fall in love with me."

"You're a good guy, Kingsley." Shannon smiles at the Brit in front of her.

"Thank you, but I really have to go!" Kingsley exclaims, jumping up and speeding after the American.

"He's got you good, Kingsley..." Shannon mumbles, standing up and fixing her hair as she watches scarfie disappear around a corner.

* * *

Kingsley _finally _reaches the door to the apartment. He pauses and leans a little closer to the door. The sounds of loud crying fill his ears and he inwardly cringes. America crying was just too much for the Brit to handle. He grabs the handle and twists it, then walks into the room, preparing for the worst. He looks on the ground, where America is sitting, wrapped up in a blue, plush blanket, a box of tissues next to him and the TV on, but silent. Surprisingly, there isn't a piece of food in sight.

"Alfred! Are you alright?" England asks, trying as best as he can to feign surprise.

"K-Kingsley, you're here already." America sniffles.

"What happened?" The red-haired man asks, moving a little closer.

"I-I...!" America starts crying loudly.

England moves forward and sits next to the American, then wraps his arms around the taller man. The blonde nation rests his head on Kingsley's shoulder and he says wetly, "I-I really like him, b-but... England!"

"You wanker, what are you sitting here crying about a country for?"

"H-He was so g-great and I-_hic-_was a giant j-jerk to him-_hic__-_I was in l-love with him!" America wails, his glasses falling off his face.

England's eyes widen, "Who were you in love with?" He asks.

"_Him!" _America says, burying his face in Kingsley's chest as if that explains everything.

England rubs the younger man's back and tries not to think about how close they are. _America is in a vulnerable state and it would be wrong of you to take advantage of that,_ he thinks._ He's pure and innocent, do you want to tarnish that by cornering him in a moment of weakness? Let him be weak. Comfort him, but don't try anything. He needs support, not romance! America is a good person with a trusting nature and you can't trick him into falling in love. _

_Damn, _England thinks, _America's changed me. _It's not that England would have just taken advantage of someone else if he hadn't fallen in love or anything. It was more like he wouldn't be there at all. He could be doing more productive things, like drinking tea and reading a nice novel. But since this was America, things were different. America never deserved pain. Ever. He was a beautiful, innocent creature, hardened because of the gory battles and things he'd seen, despite England's best efforts to keep him from experiencing the hardships of being a nation.

And so, once again, America and England fall asleep entangled in each others arms.


	5. The Plan

England wakes up the next morning on the carpeted floor, entangled in the blue plush blanket, and all alone. He groggily rubs his head and looks around, momentarily forgetting the events of the previous night. When he does remember, he jumps up. Where was America? He is answered by a note, which sits on the glass coffee table, from the man in question.

_I had to run a few errands, I'll be gone all week. Sorry for leaving on such short notice. There's a few hundred dollars in a jar on the top shelf of the kitchen if you need anything. Also, my phone number is on the back of this if you need to text me or something. _

_-Alfred. _

England's heart sinks._ A whole week?_ It's already been a week today, plus the new week of America's absence is two weeks out of two months. So that means he has about six weeks to sweep the blonde off his feet. Shit.

England had been great with romance up until America came along. America was just so... Different from everyone else. Usually (despite popular belief of the other nations) England was very smooth when it came to romance, and could easily get any person he wanted to go out with him. Except, as it turns out, the one person he really wants to go out with him.

America made him feel so stupid! Damn him! England was the smart one, the one who was always in control! And then America came along, the bloody git, and ruined everything!

Well, England wouldn't say ruined, necessarily. No, that wasn't the right word for what England thought about the situation at all. America hadn't ruined his life, just... Changed it in a way the Brit hadn't expected.

Not to say it wasn't a good change. No, the younger man was by far the best thing that had ever happened to England, no question about it. America was like a ray of sunshine, always cheerful and always putting others before himself.

It made England feel slightly unworthy. No, not slightly. It was something he was sure of. America was much too great for him,_ obviously. _The man was perfect for gods sake! It was intimidating, knowing England would never really be good enough for America. Although, on the same hand, nobody would be. After all, you couldn't be _more _than perfect.

That did nothing to make the Brit feel better.

In fact, it made him feel worse, knowing he'd never live up to America's standards. Not that he'd ever heard what America's standards were. In fact, England hadn't the slightest idea of what America was looking for when it came to relationships.

Although, he _had _said he'd been in love with someone last night, which was the reason that America wouldn't kiss Russia.

Anger boils up inside of England. Just t he _thought_ that America was so in love with someone else he couldn't be kissed without bursting into tears made England want to find the person whom America fallen for and pound him into dust. At the same time, England wanted to find this person, since they obviously weren't around anymore, and bring them to America. It would hurt, of course, to watch America be reunited with someone he had loved so dearly, but he would be happy, and that was what England _really _wanted.

More than anything, he wanted to be the cause of the American's happiness. He'd do anything to have that beautiful smile directed at him, even if just for a second.

Because it was just so dreadful to see the American crying it made England want to cry himself. And he almost never cried. He hadn't cried since the Revolution. And the only time since then, when he'd had the urge to cry, it was because America had been sad and had cried.

A very painful experience England can recall where he had almost cried for America was when Amelia Earhart had disappeared. The lad had been so heartbroken over the loss of the brave woman that he had locked himself in his room and hadn't come out for days on end. Each day, England would come by and stand outside America's door and try to get him to open it, feeling utterly helpless as America cried.

Throughout the years, there had been plenty of other times England had wanted to cry for America. Times England had come so close to doing so he could feel his green eyes stinging.

And then came the worst day of them all: the day England realized he was in love with America. Also the day of the younger man's first kiss. (He had been saving it for someone really special. _"It would have been Amelia, but..."_ America had trailed off, then gone back to being happy.)

He had burst into the meeting room and skipped over to his seat with a grin so wide his face looked as though it were going to crack in half.

"What are you happy about, you git?" England had asked with a frown, while really his heart had been practically soaring at the sight of America so happy.

That dissipated when America responded, "My first kiss!" And then winked.

"_What?" _England had exclaimed, choking on some tea he had just taken a sip of.

"With Marilyn Monroe herself, too! Golly, she sure is nice..." America had said dreamily, pink dusting his cheeks.

"Did you kiss her or did she kiss you?" England asked intently.

"She kissed me," America said, "It was great. Then she spent the night and... Well, the rest is history!" He laughed.

England had started to feel sick. "I-I have to go!" He had exclaimed, jumping from his chair, he had fled from the meeting room and stormed over to Hollywood, which wasn't too far away, because America had been hosting the meeting that particular time.

He had banged on Marilyn's door furiously, and when she had opened it, he made her swear she would never see him again. She had been very stubborn, saying he was just too good to give up (which England silently agreed with), and England had finally resorted to just using a memory charm. He had erased Alfred Foster Jones from her mind and then left.

Probably not the best thing he had ever done, but he was angry. He had walked back to the meeting room, trying to sort through his feelings. _NOBODY touches MY America! _He had thought angrily. And that's when he realized. _His_ America?

Now that England thought about it, he was more America's than America was his.

Yes, that was accurate. For all America knew, England was dead and gone, so how could he possibly be England's? But America wasn't dead and gone, so England was still his. Still his. Like he'd ever be anyone else's. If America didn't love him, he'd literally disappear off the face of the Earth, so he'd never really have the chance to be anyone else's. Like he wanted to.

Really, England wasn't very fond of the thought that he was anybody's at all. It was somewhat scary to know how quickly his heart could be broken by the younger man, and then how quickly England would be willing to forgive him for it. It's nerve wracking when someone else holds your heart. When someone else has more control over your actions than you do.

England sighs and hopes the week without America flies by fast.

* * *

England once again returns to his job at the bookstore with a sigh. He walks behind the counter and stares at the note. Maybe he could just text America and ask what that business of his was? Not like England didn't know what it was. World Meeting week, of course. He turns the note over and looks at the number , then reaches into his pocket. _Bloody American, leaving me for a week. Making me text him with this stupid phone. _

Shannon walks in. "Well, if it isn't my little lovey dovey Kingsley~!" She coos.

"Shut up." Kingsley says with a smile.

She walks up to the counter with a smile . "So, how did things go after you so cruelly left me alone?"

England turns pink, "I... Hugged him... And then we both fell asleep... And then when I woke up there was this..." He pushes the note across the counter to her.

She reads it and then says, "Ouch. A whole week without him! How will you survive?" She puts a hand on her forehead and gasps dramatically.

"I have no idea." England says seriously , looking around.

"Aw, poor Kingsley. Maybe when he comes back, you should make him all jealous."

"Huh?"

"Like, when you welcome him back, have a girl or a guy with you and introduce them as your significant other, y'know?"

"Do you think he'd be upset?"

"Well, DUH!"

"Yeah, but... He doesn't know me all that well, so..."

"Oh, come on! He'll be _fuming_ with jealousy when he sees you with someone else!"

"Hmmmm..."

* * *

"So, tell me, how long have you known him?" Shannon asks the next day as the down for coffee at the café across the street, far away from the table Russia and America were sitting at.

"Uh... It's complicated..."

"What? No it's not! How long have you known him?"

"Well, _Kingsley _has known him for about a week." England says.

"What the hell does that mean? Aren't you always Kingsley?"

"I think you'd call me mad if I answered that honestly."

"I am so confused."

"I'm going to tell you something."

"What?" She asks curiously, taking a sip of her coffee.

"I'm not really Kingsley."

"Okay... So then who are you, Mr. Not-Kingsley?"

"Arthur Kirkland."

"I have no idea who that is."

"I died three years ago in a car crash." England says blandly.

"Really?" Shannon asks, leaning closer and scrutinizing him.

"Really." _She's going to call you crazy. _

_"_Then how are you alive?"

"Long story. But to make it short, I was in love with him for about my entire life and didn't realize it, then I did an d a few years later-2010, I died. So, I went to heaven and was an angel, but The Protector gave me two months to make him fall in love with me under a different identity."

"Woahhhhh!" She exclaims, "Okay, I believe you because nobody could make that up, but I'm still gonna need some proof."

"Er... I have no idea how to show you. Or if I can at all... But I can try maybe. Let's just go to Alfred's apartment first, because if I can do something I don't want others seeing it."

"Right," Shannon says, standing up and grabbing her coffee.

* * *

"Is that proof enough?" England says, conjuring his golden halo, which floats above his head.

"That is so awesome. Holy crap you're like, _dead_ and stuff, but you're _not! _That is so _weird!_" She exclaims.

"Er-Yes," England replies.

"So, anything else you wanna tell me?"

"Um..." He says with an uneasy expression.

"Oh, come on, I won't tell anyone!"

"Well... Since I've already told you about my angel status, I might as well jus t tell you that I used to be the United Kingdom."

"Like... The United Kingdom, the _place_?"

"... Yes..."

"Holy _shit_."

"And Alfred is America."

"Woah, woah, woah, so Blondie is like, my _country_? I'm standing inside _my countries'_ house, like, right now?"

"And I don't actually look like this. I have blonde hair and green eyes."

"Woah. Woah. Holy crap. Dude. What is going on. I think I'm insane. Woah. Just... Woah."

"Okay, now that I'm done telling my biggest secrets to a person I've only known for a few days, I'll answer your question."

"Wait, since you're like, the _fucking United Kingdom, _aren't you like, extremely old?"

England winces at her language, "You are a lady! Have some manners! What happened to being all shy?! And yes, I'm very old." He sighs.

"So, you're not _really _twenty something? And when you say you've been in love with him for like, your entire life, almost, you mean _hundreds _of years?"

"Yes..."

"Woah. That's a long time to love someone."

"I have to agree."

"Can I just say that... Iknowyoulovehimandstuffbuthe'ssupercute." Shannon says quickly.

"Touch him and I kill you." England says with a smile.

* * *

"Okay, let's play a game." Shannon grins, once again sitting across from the Brit at the café.

"Alright." England says.

"It's called the scenario game," She says, "I'll give you a scenario-In this case scenarios about Alfred-and you'll give me your reaction."

"Alright." England says, peering over his cup of tea at her.

"Scenario one: Alfred comes home and yells at you to ask him to marry you."

England turns pink, "He wouldn't do that." He says, while imagining the blonde man barging into the apartment and yelling "Ask me to marry you, damn it!"

"If he did?"

"I'd ask him to marry me, of course."

"Scenario two: Alfred asks you to take a romantic walk on the beach with him."

"I suppose I would go." England tries to hide his smile by drinking tea.

"Okay, now I'm gonna ask you questions."

"Okay?"

"What is your idea of a perfect date?"

"Probably something quiet and comfy, like... Uh... The beach would be pretty good, I suppose. Or going dancing, maybe."

"And what do you think Alfred's idea of a perfect date is?"

"I'm assuming something along the lines of the amusement park, then the movies, where his date should do the cheesy-yawn-and-then-put-their-arm-over-his-should er thing." England replies with a confused expression.

"Hmm... You guys seem like you're not that much alike."

"Mhmm... He's quite energetic."

"Well, you know what they say; opposites attract! And he'll be back in four days. That's when we kick start our plan." She says with a smile.

"Plan?" England says, looking at her curiously.

* * *

**Hello everyone! I am so happy for all the kind reviews I am getting! It really warms my heart to see all of you who have good suggestions and nice things to say about my story! I am so touched that you guys like it! **

**Special shout-out to Michigangster, because you had really nice reviews on my other USUK story, 'Wounded' and now you are writing such nice reviews for this story, too, so THANK YOU! **


	6. A movie date

"I see him coming! Grab my hand, hurry!" Shannon exclaims, grabbing England's hand and watching as the blonde approaches, a silver-haired man following closely behind.

England frowns, "I don't this will help at all, Shannon. He barely knows me!"

"Okay, okay, we don't have to hold hands, but at least _try." _

"Fine."

Alfred bounds over to them with a cheerful smile. A _too _cheerful smile. "Hey dude!" He practically screams, then looks at Shannon and corrects himself, "I mean dudes!"

Ivan comes up behind the energetic American and places a hand on his shoulder, "Be careful. He slept the entire plane ride up until the last five minutes, and in that time he downed five cups of coffee." He warns England with a glare.

"Hellz yeah I did!" America says, "And it was great-y great GREAT! I am so freaking happy right now! Like, you wouldn't believe it!" He looks over, "OHMYGODAPUPPY!" The blonde screams, suddenly running out of the airport and towards a puppy.

"Hey, wait!" England yells at the same time Russia says "Alfredka, come back!" And they run after him, but somehow, Shannon gets to him first.

She taps his shoulder and he turns around with a giant, childish grin on his slightly tanned face, "HI!" He yells loudly, his big blue eyes glittering. _Wow, _Shannon thinks, _he has such pretty eyes..._

" You need to calm down. Here," She says, reaching out and gripping his shoulder.

"Wha-?" America says confusedly before his eyelids flutter, his blue eyes roll backward into his head and he falls lifelessly backward into a shocked Brit's arms, his head falling limply to one side as the shorter man catches him by his armpits.

England immediately starts to panic. "America!?" He cries, pulling the young man upwards and shaking him.

"I knocked him out so he wouldn't accidentally wreck something because of all the caffeine in his system. He'll wake up soon enough, so don't worry." Shannon looks at Ivan, who is also looking down at the American with an expression of concern. She glares at him whenever he looks away.

"I think it would be better if I carried Alfredka, da?" Russia says with an innocent smile, coming up behind the Brit and reaching out to snatch the younger man away.

England pulls the American into him and turns away from the Russian with a simple "No." He then proceeds to put an arm under the American's knees, his face turning pink, and another on his back, then lift him bridal-style, "He's mine, and I will not let him be taken away by the likes of you."

America's head falls backward, his mouth slightly open, his arms and legs swing loosely at his sides.

Russia glares, "I am much stronger than you, and much more capable of taking care of him. He's mine."

"No he's not!" England retorts angrily, pulling the American into him, as if shielding the younger man from a terrible monster.

"Yes he is!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is _not!" _

"Is _too!" _

"Oh for the love of god, just do eenie-miney-moe to see who gets to carry him!" Shannon says in an amused tone.

"Eenie-miney-moe is a hardly reasonable way to decide who gets to carry him," England says, "I got to him first, so I get to hold him." He looks down at the man with a loving smile and wipes some stray golden hairs from his face.

"Ugh!" Shannon says, "I'll do it, then!" She does eenie-miney-moe, and England wins anyways.

Russia shoots him a look that says _You're dead_, and stalks off towards America's car.

Apparently when Shannon said America would wake up 'soon enough' she meant several agonizing hours later, of which England spent arguing mindlessly with Ivan about whose America was.

"He's _mine!" _England yells.

"No, he's mine!"

"Oh? Yeah, well, you gave him a horrible cold and he's probably mad!"

"Alfredka is very forgiving," Russia states, "And I gave him my coat, but he would not take it. Because he cares about me!" Russia gloats.

"Alfred. Is. Mine." England says with a menacing look.

"No. He's mine." Russia says back angrily.

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

"He's mine!" England says.

America rubs his eyes and walks into the living room, "Who's yours?" He asks curiously.

Both Russia and England turn scarlet, and England exclaims, "N-Nobody!"

"Okay?" America says curiously, plopping down on a red loveseat.

England and Russia look at each other, and then Russia suddenly lunges toward the couch and sits down next to the American. He slides his arm over America's shoulders and pulling the blonde into him with an innocent smile sent England's way.

America turns bright red and looks down at the floor, a small smile on his face. England frowns at America's reaction.

"Hey, how about we go to the movies?" Shannon suggests.

"We totally should!" America says happily, a giant grin on his face.

"Sounds good," England says.

"Ivan, is that okay with you?" America says, looking into the Russian's violet orbs with a sweet smile.

"That is fine, Alfredka." He replies.

"Yay! Well, then, let's go! There's this really great movie-_Warm Bodies-_and there's like, zombies and deaths and romance and comedy and drama and stuff." America snatches up Ivan's hand and pulls him off the couch.

"I just forgot! I have to grab something from a shelf and I _really _need someone tall!" Shannon says.

"What do you need to grab, and why did you put it in my house?" America questions with raised eyebrows.

"Uh... I threw my lip gloss to the top shelf for safe keeping, but I realized I have no way of getting it down! You have to help me!" She exclaims, pointing to Russia.

Russia sighs and lets go of America's hand, "Alright, I'll grab it for you. What room is it in?"

"I forgot! I think it was in a room down three halls and to the right..?" She says innocently.

Russia frowns, "Can't you just go without it? We don't have time to search for it..."

"But-But... Without my lip gloss..." Shannon starts to fake-sniffle.

"Aw, Ivan, can't you just help her find it? I'll help too." America smiles at him.

Russia sighs, "You're just too cute to say no to."

America turns pink, "Th-Thanks."

"Why don't you and Kingsley go to the movie? I think it'll be a while..." Shannon says.

"I don't think that's a good idea." Russia frowns and glances over at England.

"But... But..." Shannon looks at him with wide, extremely cute eyes.

Russia's frown deepens. America grabs his hand and squeezes it, "How about I stay behind with her and you can go to the movies with Kingsley?" He suggests with a smile, "I heard it's really good."

"No, no, Alfredka... I know you want to see it... I'll stay behind with her and find her lip gloss..." He says, looking down into America's cerulean blue eyes with a straight face.

"Really?" America says, his eyes brightening.

"Of course. Have a good time. But, when you get back, we can sit down and cuddle, da?"

"I'd love to. Thanks Ivan!"

And, much to both Shannon and England's dismay, and Russia's pleasure, the blonde pushes himself up on his tiptoes and kisses the Russian's cheek.

He pulls back and slowly pulls his hand out of Russia's, his entire faces as red as a tomato, and looks at England.

"Alright, let's go!" He exclaims cheerfully.

England smiles at America and walks over to his side. As they walk out the door, England looks back at Russia over his shoulder and sticks his tongue out.

* * *

"What movie is it gonna be?" A girl with red, curly hair and deep, brown eyes asks with a pleasant smile.

"Um... Is it okay if we see _Warm Bodies_?" America asks, looking at Kingsley with an excited smile.

"That's fine," England says with a smile.

"Yay!" He smiles as the girl hands them two tickets, "Can I get some gummy bears and a large Coca-Cola, please?" He asks politely.

"Of course. And for your friend?" She replies.

"I'll have a bottle of water and some chocolate-covered peanuts." England says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out five dollars. His paycheck comes weekly, it turns out.

But, before he can pay, America grabs their food, slaps a twenty on the counter and drags Kingsley into the theater. He then proceeds to sit down in the very back row of the theater, in one of those strange two-person seats. The American pats the space next to him with a smile. England cautiously sits down, trying hard not to look at America.

"It looks like we got here just in time! The movie's about to start!" America smiles, handing England his water and peanuts.

"Thank you." England says, twisting the cap and taking a sip of his water. _I wish this was tea..._ He thinks.

America eagerly opens his gummy bears and pops a red one into his mouth, staring at the screen eagerly. He puts his soda in a cup holder and stares at the giant screen.

He steals a quick glance to his left at Kingsley and can't help but think how cute his accent is...

* * *

"DUDE! That movie was AWESOME!" America says, throwing his empty gummy bear bag and soda cup in the trash.

"It was enjoyable."

"Gosh, you are_ just_ like Arthur." America says with a smile. It slips off his face once he realizes what he said and he looks away/

England stares at the American's back, surprise etched into his face. _He was talking about me... _

America clears his throat and looks back at England, the same cheerful smile back on his face, "I'm sorry. I made it awkward... Um.. You wanna get some coffee?"

"Yes, that would be great. But... Would you mind if I asked... Who this Arthur was?"

"Hm? Oh. Arthur was... My best friend, for lack of better words. Although I wished a lot of times we could have been more than that, time was not on my side." The American smiles sadly, his eyes downcast.

He wanted to be more than friends._ He wanted to be more than friends. The United States of America wanted to go out with me, _England thinks.

"Oh," He says, "Well, I'd love to get some coffee."


	7. Kingsley gets sick

America walks down the street with his black headphones in his ears, blasting only the most hardcore rock song that ever existed, he whistles cheerfully. The moon shines overhead, and cars noisily drive by. America smiles. He's going to pick up Kingsley from his job and go get coffee together! At least, if Kingsley agrees to...

He doesn't know _why _he wants to have coffee with Kingsley.

Okay, okay, maybe he has an idea... Sort of. Kingsley _was_ a very attractive man, after all.

But that wasn't the only reason for America's actions. Something about Kingsley just seemed _so familiar. _He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about the way Kingsley acted, and the things he liked to do...

He walks into the store and looks around. Seeing Kingsley isn't at the counter, he walks up to it.

"Is Kingsley here?" He asks the man behind the white counter.

"Actually he just left, man. Sorry. He didn't say where he was going, either. But he was with a girl, if that helps."

"Oh. Thanks." America says blankly, then walks out of the store, not bothering to look across the street at the café where Shannon and Kingsley sit.

* * *

The next day, England awakens with a splitting headache and a ringing his ears. His body seems to be engulfed in an unbearable heat. He shakily reaches out with one hand and presses it to his forehead. He's burning up.

Dear Lord, he can feel his dinner coming up—he jumps out of his bed on shaky legs and charges into the bathroom, hurriedly slamming the door shut behind him, he drops in front of the toilet and empties his stomach of its contents.

America walks in just as England as England is walking out of the bathroom. "I heard a door slam... Is everything alright?" The American asks.

"Yes," England replies, walking slowly to his wardrobe. Instead of opening it, he leans against it and closes his eyes. He's so tired...

America steps forward cautiously, trying to ignore the fact that England is wearing only an unbuttoned white dress shirt and a pair of UK boxers. "Hey, dude, are you okay?" He asks.

"Hm? Oh, yes, I'm fine." England opens his eyes and pushes himself off the dresser.

"You're shaking... Are you sure? Maybe you should rest..." America gently reaches out and grabs the Brit's elbow.

"N-No... I can't... I have... Work..." England finds himself leaning backward into the American's chest, his eyelids dripping, "I really... Can't..." He mumbles, his eyes closing completely.

America looks at the red-haired man with a concerned expression before bending his knees and picking the Brit.

Apparently a little too fast, because England suddenly jerks awake and throws his arms around the American's neck, letting out a weak scream.

"It's fine, I've got you." America reassures.

England instantly relaxes, his arms slipping away from the American's neck, he closes his eyes again, far too weak to stay awake and trusting that America wouldn't ever let him go.

* * *

Hours later, England wakes up on the living room couch, sweating profusely. He kicks the blanket off of himself and groans.

He feels something on his forehead and weakly reaches out, grasping it shakily in his pale hands. He squints at the object in his hand in disbelief. America put a disgusting, greasy, bloody horrible hamburger on his forehead?! He groans and throws it into the trash can.

That bloody idiot! How dare he do something so stupid? England silently makes plans to tell the American off for this as he pushes himself up into a sitting position with great difficulty, growing more angry with America each passing second.

_How dare he not realize how I feel?! And how dare he keep spending time with the stupid Russian git, pretending like I'm not here at all?! And how dare he put his disgusting food on my forehead?!_

England pushes himself up to his feet and clutches a small table for support, glaring at the doorway to the kitchen where America is probably at.

Suddenly, all plans of yelling at America scurry through the back door of England's mind, his thoughts instead flooded by the beautiful face of the American rushing towards him with outstretched arms. _Why was I thinking about hamburgers again? _England wonders curiously, feeling his knees start to go weak, both from America and the fact that he's probably going to pass out any second now.

"Kingsley! You shouldn't get up, alright?" America says, grabbing the Brit just before he falls backwards.

England nods, staring up into the face of the American.

"Really, you need to rest..." America says with furrowed brows, "You look even worse than before..."

"I-I... Sorry... For being such trouble..." England says in a hoarse voice that's barely a whisper. Wasn't he supposed to be yelling at the American right now?

"Aw, Kingsley, don't feel bad. We can't control getting sick, right? You don't worry about it, just rest." America says, laying the shorter man gently on the couch with an uneasy smile.

America turns around and starts to walk away.

Suddenly overcome with worry, England reaches out as quickly and snatches up the blonde's hand, holding it as tightly as he can. He looks up into the blonde's ocean blue eyes with his own, willing the younger nation to stay beside him.

"What is it?" America immediately asks, a worried looks spreading across his face.

"Don't go." England orders in a soft voice.

America looks at him for a second before nodding, "Alright." He carefully moves England down a little bit, then sits down on the white couch. England looks up at him, blinking, and then grabs a pillow off the couch, places it on America's lap, then puts his head on top of it, thinking _if he asks later in, say you don't remember anything that happened while you were sick. _

America smiles as Kingsley's eyes start to droop. Maybe Kingsley imagined it, but he thinks he feels a warm pair of lips on his forehead before he drifts off.

* * *

The next time Kingsley wakes up, his head is still in America's lap, but America is sleeping, and it's already the next morning. He pushes himself away from America as fast as he can and grabs a trash can. Needless to say, America was pretty grossed out when he woke up to the sounds of England throwing up.

But instead of saying he's totally grossed out, he walks out of the room and returns a minute later with two towels; one wet, which he places on the Brit's forehead, the other dry, which he hands to England to wipe away any throw-up on his mouth. He then carefully carries England, who says he can walk perfectly fine, into the bathroom and gives him some mouthwash.

After that's over, Kingsley looks at America and says, "Th-Thanks..."

"It's no problem at all, man!" America says with a cheerful smile, carefully scooping the other into his arms and carrying him back out to the living room. He brushes the hair out of Kingsley's eyes and sets him down. "I hope you get better soon, though, I have to go on a trip soon and I want you to come with me but..." He looks at the smaller man, "If you don't, I'll have to hire someone to stay with you... Now, I have to get some paperwork done. Sweet dreams."

No sooner than the words have left America's mouth, Kingsley is asleep.

* * *

Two days later, Kingsley awakens. And doesn't feel utterly horrible. He counts the days since Monday, and it's been five. That means this is the last weekend until next month.

"How did it go so fast?" He asks.

"What went fast?" America asks, walking in with some soup, which he sets on the table, "Your voice seems better... How are you feeling?" He asks.

"Oh—Just awful—How will I ever survive?" England asks, dramatically throwing one hand over his forehead and the other on his heart and falling backwards onto the couch, "So sick—It's unbearable!"

"Are you being serious?!" America asks worriedly, grabbing the hand that was on England's chest and squeezing it with worried eyes.

England stares at the their joined hands, turning pink, "No, you twat." He says with a small smile.

"Oh," America lets go of his hand and stands up, "Are you well enough to talk with me for a while?"

"Yes, I'm fine." England looks down at himself, "But I would appreciate it if you could grab me some pants..." He turns scarlet and pulls the blanket over himself.

America bursts into loud laughter and stands up, "Oh, dude, you crack me up!"

* * *

After England has put some pants on, America's laughter subsides and he sits down on a plush white chair across from England with an intense look.

"What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" England asks curiously, squirming a little under the American's gaze.

America's eyes soften and he leans back into the chair, "Well... We've known each other for a month now... And I've grown to like you a lot," England's heart does little flip-flops in his chest at this, "And I have to go on a trip to England in a few days, so... I just don't think I can go alone... And I want you to come with me." America finishes, looking at the Brit nervously.

"Yes!" England exclaims immediately. America blinks and he says, "I mean—I would gladly accompany you, if you want me to."

"Sweet! Then, we leave on Monday! Oh... And we're staying at Arthur's house, so... Um... They found his well and they're giving his stuff away, so..." He looks away, "My brother told me about it yesterday." And then he looks at the ground, "I don't want them to give it away, but... It's not my choice." The blonde clears his throat, "Oh! And, I'm going to this double-date thing tonight, and I was wondering if you wanted to come?"

England stares at him, _did he just ask me on a date? _"I'm sorry, what?" He asks.

"Sorry—I should have re-phased that." _Why was he so nervous when he thought it was a date with me,_ America thinks, _Am I that bad...?_ "I'll be going with Ivan, and you'll be going with my friend, Toris. I mean, are you gay or bi...?"

"I-I'm gay." England says.

"Oh, cool, me too. Anyway, do you wanna come? I'll even save you a dance," The American winks.

"Um... I suppose I could come..." England says, disappointed America wasn't asking him on a date. "Should I get ready, then?"

"Um, yeah, there should be dress clothes of Arthur's in the closet. Funny how well they fit you, huh?" America says, "You're like, _exactly _the same size as him and stuff." America smiles, "It almost makes me think you _are _him sometimes."

England's eyes widen and he stiffens immediately.

"But that's silly." America says, "I'm gonna go put my tux on." And with that, he walks out of the room.

* * *

America runs out into the living room, his vest still open and his tie—which is not tied yet—hanging loosely around his neck, a pen in his mouth and a paper in one hand, he runs to the door and opens it, revealing Russia.

He's clad in an all-white suit, with a blood-red vest underneath, a white tie, and rose of the same color is on his lapel. His silver hair is slicked back, making him look a few years older than he is, and his violet orbs glitter.

Next to him and blushing furiously is Lithuania, whose brown hair is in its regular style. He is fidgeting with his dark-grey tux, which has a white vest underneath, and a sky-blue tie, along with an artificially-colored flower, of the same color, which America does not recognize.

"Alfredka, you are not ready yet?" Russia says, stepping into the large apartment, Lithuania following nervously behind.

"No, sorry, I don't know how to do the tie," America smiles.

"Oh. Well, I had Lithuania do mine." Russia smiles at the brunette, who shakily moves forward and wraps his fingers around the tie, then does a bunch of random things America doesn't bother to watch, and the forest-green tie is around his neck. Russia asks where the American's coat is, and America says that he didn't want one—"I gotta be free, y'know?"

England walks out of the room a second after America's dark-green vest is on.

America turns around to look at him, and is at a loos for words, as is Kingsley, apparently, for they just stare at each other.

Kingsley is wearing a traditional black tuxedo, the back goes down past his knees and splits in the middle. The long jacket is over a blue vest—One England had chosen because it matched America's eyes—and then there are black slacks and black dress shoes.

"Damn." America says, "You look good."

Kingsley turns scarlet and takes a look at the blonde, who looks so attractive it should be illegal, before Russia steals his attention.

"Alfredka, your tie is a little crooked." The Russian says, bending over a bit to straighten out the tie. America peels his eyes off the Brit and looks at Russia, then leans in and whispers something in the taller man's ear then sends him stumbling backward.

"A-Alfredka!" Russia says, his entire face red.

England stares at Russia with pure hatred as Ameirca breaks down into hysterical laughter. "Dude—Kidding—Ohmygod—Too funny."

"Let's go." Russia says, slinging his arm over the American's shoulder.

Lithuania nervously walks over to England and says, "Hi. I'm Toris."


	8. One Direction makes an appearance

Russia stops America outside the doors of what England assumes to be the ballroom, and him and Toris stop, too.

"Ready, dudes?" America asks them all, "Prepare for the fancy!" He grins, and England thinks he might have winked.

America pushes open to ornate white doors, revealing a ballroom only lit by candles and a giant, glittering crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Many women mill about in their fancy dresses, as do the men in their suits. England walks in next to Toris, looking around with a blank expression. By the far wall is three long, wooden tables, of which are filled with every kind of drink and desert the Brit has ever eaten, and even some he hasn't. There is also four smoked salmons and a roasted pig, of course with the apple in it's mouth, as the main course. Next to main courses are smaller things such as soups, salads, etc... In another end are tables, all covered in white tablecloths and with centerpieces of different flowers in the middle. The rest of the space is taken up by a giant, marble-floored dance floor, of which most of the couples are on.

Russia hastily captures the American's hand in his and steers him out onto the dance floor, pulling him into a waltz position immediately. England tries to ignore the American's blush.

He turns to face Toris, "Er—Would you like some punch?" He asks.

"That would be gr—"

"Ohmygosh, Liet, you're here!" A blonde man, whom England recognizes as Poland interrupts, running over in a fluffy pink ball gown.

"F-Feliks, why are you wearing a dress?" Lithuania asks, turning a deep shade of red and sending an apologetic look towards England, who simply shrugs and wanders towards the punch bowl.

England pours himself some blood-red punch and sits down at an empty table, then takes a sip. He gives the 'not bad' face and takes another sip.

* * *

It's halfway through the night and England is becoming extremely tired of all the women constantly asking to dance with him... He's not even straight! For the umpteenth time that night, a girl walks up to him.

She carefully moves a piece of her curly, brown hair behind her ear and looks at him with deep green orbs, a light pink dusting her cheeks," Excuse me... Would you..." England sighs and opens his mouth, "Move out of the way, please?" She finishes.

"Oh. Of course," England says, startled. He moves out of the way and watches as she moves over towards the table with the salmon, where America is taking a surprisingly small amount. Well, compared to the portions he _usually_ eats, at least.

She walks over to him and taps his shoulder lightly. The blonde slowly turns around with a curious look etched into is lightly tanned face. Her mouth moves, though England can't hear the words, and America starts to turn red. He slowly shakes his head, with an apologetic look.

She says something that looks like "Oh..." and walks away.

England slowly makes his way over to the table, grabs a small plate, and grabs a small piece of a vanilla cake with yellow frosting, thinking, _Damn America to hell. There are a lot of pretty girls here you could be spending time with... But no, you had to go and fall in love with the most annoying, stupid, obnoxious man there ever was! _Then, another though occurs to him, _Maybe if I play hard to get... _

"Hey, dude!" America grins when he sees England.

"'Ello," England replies, trying his best to sound distant.

"Is the cake good? I usually save dessert for after dinner, and I wanna know what to choose..." America asks, moving a tad closer to England.

"I haven't the slightest idea." England says curtly.

"Oh. Well, okay..." America seems slightly deterred by England's lack of emotion, and walks back over to Russia.

_Damn, _England thinks, _Apparently, playing hard to get doesn't work at all. ...Why is it in all the American movies?!_

* * *

_Just walk over there and ask him... Just walk over there and ask him... The worst he could do is say no, and if he does—_

"Wassup, British dude!" America exclaims as England stops in front of him.

"Um..."

"Have you tried that cake yet?"

"Er, yes, it was good. Um, listen, I was wondering..."

America closes his mouth and looks at the Brit with curious blue eyes, he tilts his head slightly to the side.

England, not meeting his gaze, says, "Do you want to dance?"

"That'd be great!" America says, grabbing the Brit's hand, he pulls him out onto the white, marble dance floor.

England turns a deep shade of scarlet as America grabs his arms and wraps them around his neck, then wraps his own arms around England's waist, smiling and twirling in slow circles. They quickly fall into a rhythm, one of them occasionally taking small steps closer to the other until their chests are touching. America looks down at England.

"Kingsley..." America says softly.

"Hm?" England blinks, as though awakening from a trance.

"I just wanted to apologize... For comparing you to my friend... You're not him, you're you, and I like you for that." America says.

"O-Oh." England says nothing, just moves in a tiny bit closer and rests his head on the American's chest. He closes his eyes as America rests his head on top of his head, smiling lightly into his red hair.

As they spin, the world around them starts to disappear. All of the candlelight that had gleamed against America's golden hair, and all of the murmured words exchanged between other couples on the dance floor dissipate. England smiles lightly as America pulls him closer, his red hair mixing with America's gold. His breathing slows, as does America.

They spin like that, lost in their own world, where names and appearances don't matter, where it's just the two of them, together, where nobody can tell them to stay away. Nobody can keep America from England, nor England from America.

And it doesn't matter in the slightest that they aren't together in the real world, for England knows now that their hearts, minds, and bodies are connected. Linked through the years of love, war, friendship and fights they have been through together. They have stood the test of time, relying on the other when they needed to. They helped each other out. And now, England realizes, somewhere along the way, they both fell in love. America may not know who he is, but surely he feels the connection between them, and surely he'll start falling in love again...

Everything was... _Perfect._

And so, for another five songs, they stay that way, spinning in slow circles, America occasionally murmuring something softly in the Brit's ear, sending shivers down the other's spine. And then, as the last song of the night ends, America blinks and lifts his head away from Kingsley's slowly.

* * *

The next morning, Kingsley wakes up and pulls on a pair of brown trousers, a green shirt and a sweater vest, then looks himself in the floor-length mirror in his bathroom. He frowns at his reflection.

America dresses so much more casual. Maybe if he dressed more like other New Yorkers America would like him better?

With this thought in his head, he walks to the closet filled with his old clothes—he still can't believe all the junk he'd left at America's house—and finds a pair of ripped, black jeans, a white t-shirt and a genuine leather jacket. He stares at them cautiously for a moment before stripping down to his UK boxers and then pulls these clothes on instead.

He moves back to the bathroom and looks in the mirror again. He hadn't brushed his fiery red hair yet, so it's still messy, sticking up in random places, curling in others, and staying flat on his head in others. It's still hard for England to recognize himself as he stares into the mirror with blue eyes. _They should be green, _he thinks, turning away angrily, _I should be blonde with green eyes, and my name should be Arthur. _

He sighs, feeling insecure in the outfit, and walks downstairs nervously. He walks over to the cabinet and grabs a bag of tea, which he had bought for himself, then sticks it in a teapot and sets it on the stove.

America walks in while England's back is turned, whistling.

"Morning," England greets, biting his lower lip, he waits for America's reaction.

"Morn—Woah! Kingsley... Why are you dressed like that...?" America stares at him. _He looks so freakin' hot. _

"Um... I thought I'd try something new today."

"Oh." America sits down, "No offense, but I liked your old style better." America says, "But this one is nice."

England keeps his back to the American, saying nothing. _He doesn't like it. _His heart flutters a little, _that means he liked the way I usually dress better. He likes the real me better!_

"So, what do you want for breaky-fast?" America asks.

"Breaky-fast?" England says, turning around with one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, that's what I... Call it sometimes..." America finishes, staring at Kingsley. _Holy shit. _

"Are you alright?" England asks, smirking.

"Yeah. You just look really hot in that outfit." He states bluntly, grabbing the paper off the table, he fans himself with it, "Is it hot in here?"

England looks at him, his face turning red at the comment, he takes the tea off the stove.

"Um... I'm gong to go and check the weather for today." America says, sweat beading on his forehead, he walks out of the room.

A minute later, England hears him say "Shit." from the living room.

He walks out there and stares at the TV. "110 degrees?" He says.

"Ughhhhhh!" America says, pulling off his shirt.

England turns so red he has to turn around, furiously trying to shake the image of America's tanned muscles from his head.

"Why does it have to be so hoot?" The American whines, "Stupid planetttt!" He turns on all the fans (which turn out to be eleven in total. England wonders why he has so many,) and throws himself onto the couch face-first.

England stares at him, suddenly remembering that America is tied to his nation. He has the same interests as the majority of the population. He talks like them an acts like them. And when everyone is whining because it's hot, he does too.

"Ugh! This stupid heat! I—need—to—do—something!" He exclaims, almost robotically, he pushes himself off the couch.

"Are you okay?" England asks, worry growing inside of him.

"Stupid population, making me wanna do stuff I don't want to," America mutters, walking into his bedroom.

He returns a few minutes later with a pair of swimming trunks an a towel. "I have to go swimming." He says irritably, slipping on some flip-flops.

England suppresses a smile. America's population must be _really _hot if he can't even control his actions.

"Cheerio!" The Brit calls happily, walking into his room to change back into his regular clothes and head to work.

* * *

At work, England tells Shannon what happened with America.

"Oooh, so like, anything that gets really big in America, he like, has to like and stuff?"

"Pretty much. I mean, he has his own personality and likes and dislikes, of course, but if the majority of the population feel that way, he can't help it—and if almost _all _the population feels the same way about something, he can't control himself."

"Wow. That's not going to be good tomorrow..."

"What? Why?" England asks concernedly.

"The new One Direction album is coming out tomorrow, and almost every single girl in America likes them. And some guys, too." Shannon says worriedly, "He's going to be _in love_ with _One Direction_ for _days_ on end. I guarantee it."

"One Direction?" England narrows his eyes, "What's that?"

"A British boy band. They're touring America. And they're coming out with a new album."

"Oh, god." England gasps, his eyes wide with horror. Then he smiles, "Wait... Did you say they were British?"

"Yes...?" Shannon says.

"Well... He'll probably like a lot of British things those next couple of days, then." England's smile turns into a grin.

Shannon looks at him in shock, "Oh my god! You're totally going to take advantage of his British-boy-band-loving girl side!" She exclaims with a giant grin.

* * *

**I had to do it... I had to... One Direction _had_ to be in this story. They had to, I say. **

**You guys excited for fangirl America? OuO**

**Also, thank you for the awesome comments! All of you get cupcakes and ice cream! **

***Hands all of my reviewers cupcakes and ice cream, plus a puppy.***


	9. Turning Pages

America wakes up the next morning with the sudden urge to start singing 'What Makes You Beautiful.' He pulls on a t-shirt, jeans and his bomber jacket with a weird, tingly feeling at the thought of Kingsley as he walks into the kitchen.

"Good morning," England says, holding a rope behind his back. He remembers what happened when all the girls were in love with Justin Beiber and shivers. America was going crazy for days, only occasionally snapping out of it to mutter a quick apology.

America suddenly turns to look at him, his eyes wide and glittering. "You... Your accent." He says, a dreamy look on his face, he sits at the table across from England and stares at him.

"What about it?" England asks, his fingers tightening around the rope, though he _really_ hopes he doesn't have to use it.

America squeals in delight. "Say more stuff!"

"Are you quite alright?"

"I'm great, now that you're here! I just_ knew _something was missing! But now that I see you, everything is perfect!" America gushes in a very feminine tone.

England turns red, "R-Really?"

"Oh my gosh, you are SO cute! British people are just so awesome! ...Especially boys... Especially five in a row... Especially if they're a band..." He says dreamily, "But you're just as good."

The blonde leans over the table, staring at England intently, as if waiting for something incredible to happen.

"So... Do you want to... Watch the telly for a while?" England asks, squirming under the American's dreamy gaze.

"Oh, of course!" America says. England stands up, and America follows, grabbing England's arm and pulling him into the living room, then pulling him down onto the couch.

He grabs the remote and turns on the TV, then turns to England. "I never even realized how hot you are, Kingsley." America states.

"I beg your pardon?!" England says, his entire face turning red.

"Your accent and your face and stuff... It's like, _hot, _dude." America says, "It's so British."

_Oh, _England thinks, _That's what this is about. I'm British, just like One Direction. Damn American girls, giving me false hopes. _

"You wanna play truth or dare?" America asks.

"Um..."

"Actually, lets just play truth, since there's only two of us." America decides, "You ask first, 'cuz you're cuter."

"I beg to differ," England says, "But alright. Um... How long have you thought I was cute?"

The answer he gets surprises him, "Since the first time I saw you!" America giggles, "My turn." He furrows his brows, thinks for a minute then asks, "If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes?"

England looks at him, blushing and mutters, "...Yes..."

"Oh my gosh~" America giggles and falls backwards off the couch. A minute later, he jumps up, his eyes wide. "Dude. I forgot. About. One. Direction." He says.

"What?"

"THEIR ALBUM COMES OUT TODAY. AND I FORGOT. WHAT IF THEY'RE ALL SOLD OUT?!" America screams, grabbing his cowboy boots and a twenty off the coffee table, "I'LL BE BACK SOON." He screams, running out the door.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, America comes back with the new CD, squealing, he puts it on full blast, then jumps onto the couch happily, "Ohmygodohmygod!" He squeals, clapping is hands together.

England walks in, staring at the American with an amused face.

"Oh my gosh this song totally speak to my soul." America says, "My soul is telling me that I should buy tickets to their concert and then get married to Liam!"

"You're not marrying anyone." England says darkly.

"You can't stop me! I'munna go and buy me some tickets right now!" America says, running into his bedroom, laughing His head off.

* * *

Another twenty minutes and America walks out of the living room, where England is eating a sandwich and watching the news.

"GAHHH!" America yells, his hands on his head.

England drops his sandwich. "What is it?!" He asks, immediately moving to America's side.

"God damned One Direction! It's all up inside my head!"

"...Oh." England just returns to the TV.

"It—Hurts—To—Resist! Freaking teenage girls!" America says, throwing himself onto the couch. He hangs over the edge at an od angle, muttering cuss words under his breath.

"Are you alright?" England asks in a bored tone.

"No! I'm in painnnnn!" America whines, throwing himself off the edge of the couch and instead over Kingsley, "You have to help meeeee!"

"What can I do?" England asks, his face turning pink at the American on his lap.

"I don't know, but I'm in severe pain!"

"Alfred, if you were in severe pain, you wouldn't be speaking."

"The pain—the pain—Oh, the _pain!" _America cries.

* * *

The next two days Alfred spends buying _One Direction_ t-shirts, scarves, headphones, and a t-shirt shooter-canon-thingy, annoying England three-quarters of the way to death, and complaining that he's in severe pain.

England tries very hard to ignore all of these things, finding it more than a little frustrating to not run to the American's side whenever he whines.

But he has to be careful, or America will start catching onto his feelings, and England isn't sure if he's ready for that—even if he has a mere three weeks to steal the blonde's heart.

He knows he has to step it up, and that's why he is currently on his way back to the apartment with some McDonalds and sundaes. After all, American's aren't near as classy as Englishmen, right? So America would be fine with McDonalds...?

England opens the door to the apartment, calling out "Alfred!" in a sing-song voice.

Immediately, the blonde comes rushing out of his room, a goofy smile on his face. "Yeah dude?" He asks.

"I brought McDonalds and sundaes..." England says, his face turning bright red.

"Mickey D's? Sweet!" America exclaims, walking out of his room, an _I heart One Direction _sweatshirt tied around his waist. When he notices it, he frowns and rips it away from him, chucking it down into the depths of his seemingly never-ending hallway. "Suck-a!" America calls triumphantly, bounding over to England. "I should get some candles and stuff!" America exclaims.

"What? Why?" England asks.

"'Cuz this is a date, right?" America asks, pausing mid-stride to look at the Brit.

"Um... Yes..."

"Alright, then, we need to make it romantic! I'll get candles and roses, you look through my CD's for something slow and dim the lights." America winks and disappears down the hallway.

_Our first date, _England thinks, walking over to the TV. Next to it are shelf after shelf of CD's. His jaw drops. How the_ hell_ is he supposed to find something romantic out of all this?

One particular CD suddenly catches his eye. _Romantic Mix. _England smiles. Well, that was quickly pops in the CD, turns the volume low, and then moves over to the living room light switch, finding it's one of those circular knobs that you twist to dim the lights. He dims them almost all the way down, then opens the bags and sets the food out on America's glass table, leaving it wrapped, of course. How gross would it be if America's table got all ruined with grease on their first date?

A few minutes pass and America returns, holding candles in one hand and a rose in a vase in the other. The blonde, blushing deeply, sets the vase on the table and places the rose in it, then sets the candles down, pulls a lighter out of his pocket, and lights the candles. He then grabs two cushions off the couch and sets them across from each other on the floor.

England sits down on one, but America stays standing.

"I'll go grab some wine," America says, walking into the kitchen.

A minute later he returns with two crystal wine glasses and an expensive-looking bottle of red wine, which he also sets down on the coffee table.

"So, what made ya wanna go on a date all of a sudden?" America asks, plopping himself down onto the kitchen.

"Er—I don't know," _I've been in love with you for years, _"I have a question, though... Weren't you dating Ivan?" _Please tell me he dumped you so I can go pound his ass into dust. _

"Oh, right, him..." America turns bright red, "Um... At the dance... I told him I didn't wanna see him anymore... After we danced... I... Um... Thought..." America lowers his voice and says quickly, "thatwehadaconnection."

England also turns bright red, but says "So did I."

America grins. "Great! But, I warn you, I'm not all that good with relationships..." He looks embarrassed by this.

"Oh." England says, his eyes glittering. _If Russia's out of the picture, I have a better chance of getting him to say he loves me! _

America and England begin to eat.

Their meal is silent.

They're both finished and about to leave, when suddenly, a soft piano melody starts to drift around the room, enveloping them both in a sudden warmth. Violin starts to play softly.

"Would you like to dance?" England asks quietly.

Silently, America stands up, and for a moment, England thinks he's going to leave, until he grabs the Brit, pulling him close, slipping his fingers through the Brit's, smiling that they fit perfectly.

And a man's voice drifts throughout the room.

_I've waited a hundred years... But I'd wait a million more, for you... _

England smiles. This line seemed to describe how he felt for the man whose arms he was in. He had been waiting for _more _than a hundred years for America, though he didn't know it, and he would gladly wait even more than a million for America to return his feelings, to be so close to the American like he is now, to feel their hearts beating in sync as they slowly turn.

_Nothing prepared me for what the privilege of being yours would do._

This line, also seemed to be describing England's thought exactly. It was quite the privilege, an honor, even, to have fallen in love with such a pure thing as America. But, nothing could have ever prepared him for the hardships, suffering, and pain that would come from falling in love with such an innocent, desirable man.

_If I had only felt the warmth within your touch, if I had only seen how you smile when you blush..._

This next line, it seems, is directed towards America. Kingsley would never know how much he had longed for the security, the protection, the warmth of another person. This, Kingsley had given him freely, and he wished he could have felt and seen this earlier. Maybe he would have opened up his heart earlier. Kingsley had undeniably opened up his heart.

_Or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough, I would have known what I was living for..._

Yes, this next one was also for America. He simply loved all of Kingsley's little quirks. And now he had a reason to live.

_What I've been living for._

That line, for the both of them. For they had both, whether that day or one hundred years ago, found what they had been living for all along.

_Your love is my turning page, where only the sweetest words remain._

America and England may have a complicated history, but the only words that they would ever remember are the ones that were of love.

_Every kiss is a cursive line, every touch is a redefining phrase._

This, they have no words for. For they have not shared that first kiss yet. But surely, when they do, it will be smooth, like a cursive line.

_I surrender who I've been for who you are, for nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart._

England could not find better words to describe the way he felt for America. He would surrender his past self, invent an entirely new person, give himself a different name and appearance for America. He would surrender who he once was, Arthur Kirkland, for America. And, nothing motivates him more than America's kind, caring heart.

_If I had only felt how it feels to be yours, well, I would have known what I've been living for all along._

America wishes he had met Kingsley sooner. For then he could fall quicker, and he would have known why he was here, existing on this planet, seemingly all alone just waiting to stumble upon the right person.

_What I've been living for..._

And, right there, America decides he's in love with Kingsley.

_Though we're tethered to the story we must tell, when I saw you, well, I knew we'd tell it well._

Of course, America and England share one of the most beautiful, most heart breaking stories that was ever told. And, of course, they both have their own versions. Now, though, they intertwine into one story, and they will, from now on, tell it only together.

_With a whisper, we will tame the vicious seas... Like a feather bringing kingdoms to their knees._

America and Kingsley would make their loud, yelling fights, much like the rough seas, disappear with their strong, though fragile love.

* * *

**So, what did you guys think? AMERICA FELL IN LOVE! Fangirl alert! **

**Speaking of fangirls, sorry America wasn't all that much of a fangirl! I'm horrible, I know, getting your hopes up and then smashing them under my boots. XD I apologize! **

**Oh! And, of course, the beautiful song featured in this chapter is called _Turning Pages _by Sleeping At Last. It's a truly beautiful song, and I would advise every single one of you to check it out. **

**Thanks for reading, my dears! :D **


	10. Arriving in England

**Okay, I just wanna respond to some reviewers!**

**DevilChild101: America was whining and saying he was in pain because he was having a hard time controlling his feelings... Because of all the 1D loving fangirls. **

**alonesong: I'll go back and change it if I have time. :) **

**yukine08: Thanks for the awesome reviews you always post! You rock!**

**CartoonCouples101: Thanks! I was going for a cutesy-intimate thing... I dunno... XD**

**MiyatheEarthninja: Thanks for the reviews you post, I enjoy them a lot. :) **

**cheshiresapprentice: I was trying to make the chapter funny and lovey-dovey, so I'm glad you liked it. **

* * *

America lies on his back, his eyes closed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his slender nose. He lets out a breath and opens his sparkling blue eyes, his mind racing, sunlight flooding in through his open window.

What happened last night... Was...

_"I'm bringin' sexy back. Them other boys don't know how to act~" _America's cell phone ringing interrupts his thoughts. Who the hell did America give _that _ringtone to? He jumps and picks it up.

"This is the hero speaking." He says into it.

"Bonjour, Amerique." France says.

...France must have put that ringtone on America's phone.

"Oh, hey Francey-pants. What's up?"

"I am simply calling to remind you that you 'ave a flight that will be leaving for Angleterre today."

"Oh shit!" America exclaims, "What should I pack!?"

"I suggest clothes," France says, and America can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"I really don't wanna do this..." America says in a small voice.

France's voice turns to a serious one and he says, "Nor do I, Amerique. But... You have to get used to the fact that Angleterre is gone, and he's never coming back. A sad loss, of course, though one we could never 'ave prevented."

"I-I know. I'll be there soon. I'll take my jet. See you soon."

"Cordialement, Amerique." France sighs and hangs up the phone.

* * *

America grabs England's wrist. England looks at him, his entire face red.

"I don't want to loose you in this crowd," America explains, steering them through the giant sea of men, women, and children, occasionally stopping someone to ask for some form of directions.

"You'd think that if you have your own jet, you would know where it is." England says.

"I know where my jet is!" America says with a pout. "It's outside somewhere! I just don't know where outside is." He smiles, pulling England through another gate.

They make it to the jet. America smiles, admiring the plane from the bottom of the stairs that lead up to it, before grabbing England's bags and moves out of the way, gesturing with his head for England to go first.

"Scared?" England asks with a smirk.

"No, I'm being a gentlemen."

England stares at him for a moment with a surprised face. America looks at him with furrowed brows.

"Are you gonna do something or...?" America asks.

"Oh." England says, walking up the stairs and into the plane. He chooses a seat and sits down, his eyes trailing over the luxurious furnishing or the plane.

"Like it?" America says happily, plopping down in a seat across from him.

"It's nice." England says, then quietly adds, "It's great, actually because... You're here." He says, his entire face red, his eyes land on America's shoes, which have suddenly become extremely interesting. He expects America to make some lame comment and then order a drink. America never was good with relationships...

Instead, America comes over and sits next to him, placing his head in the crook of England's neck and closing his eyes. He takes the Brit's hand and intertwines their fingers.

"You know... My fingers fit perfectly in the spaces between yours..." America muses.

England, who is blushing, closes his eyes also. Leaning his head on America's, he breathes out contentedly.

* * *

"Alfred..." England says, nudging the American's shoulder.

"...Shh..." America whispers, slumping sideways onto England's lap.

"Alfred, wake up... We're in London."

"Ughhhhh..." America opens his eyes slowly, smiling when they focus on Kingsley. "Are we here already?"

"Yes, we are, you git, so get up!" England scolds lightly, standing up and grabbing his bags.

America, mumbling something under his breath about wanting to sleep, follows Kingsley's example, grabbing his bags and moving toward the open plane door.

England is greeted with three familiar faces; France's, Scotland's, and Canada's.

His breath catches in his throat, and he freezes at the top of the staircase, his blue eyes wide. Three people he had thought he would only see from above, right in front of him... Not that he missed France—he was a bloody frog.

America stops, a black expression on his face. "These are my brothers," He says, "I'll introduce you to them down there, alright?"

"Okay..." England says. _Since when did America consider France and Scotland his brothers? And where are Ireland and Wales? They usually go everywhere with Scotland... _

America, with England trailing closely behind him, walks down the white staircase and onto the pavement, his eyes sad.

"Kingsley," he gestures toward Canada, "this is my younger brother, Matthew."

"Hello." Canada nods politely.

"I'm Francais." France says, reaching out, he takes England's hand, placing his lips to the back of it before the Brit can protest.

"H-Hey!" England says, pulling his hand away a second later.

Scotland, laughing loudly, says, "And I'm Allistor Kirkland!" and slings his arm over England's shoulder.

"So, shall we go back to dear old Angleterre's house?" France asks.

"He wasn't that old," America mumbles, and England is sure he's the only one who caught it, as France takes his hand, kissing it, then leading them all to the car.

* * *

**BLAHH SHORT CHAPTER... Sorry...**


	11. I love you

Two weeks.

England has two weeks left.

* * *

They arrived in London about a week ago, and for the entirety of that week, America has been moving from room to room, locking the door, sitting in England's chairs, and in most cases, crying quietly.

None of the other nations know about this.

America, of course, leaves the rooms for breakfast, lunch, dinner, bathroom breaks, sitting on the couch silently dragging his feet in the hallways... It's the saddest England has seen him, aside from the Revolution, and it breaks his heart.

And so, again, America goes into a different room; this time unknowingly followed by England, who is much too curious for his own good, and just _has_ to know what goes on in those rooms.

America shuts and locks the door behind him, and immediately England presses his ear to it, straining to hear.

Instead of voice, though, he hears some papers flapping, then maybe something being ripped, and then what sounds like America flopping down onto the floor.

Then, he hears small sniffling, and his heart actually skips a beat from pure shock. Was America... Crying? No, no, he couldn't be. America was not the type to cry.

Well... He _had _cried that one time after that bastard Russia had tried to kiss him, but...

England suddenly realizes that whenever America cries, it has something to do with him, and cringes. That was the opposite of what he wanted America to do, even if they were tears of joy.

Never, never did he want to see, hear, or even think about America, sitting alone in a room, thinking about someone who used to be there, someone w=he used to care about... The image of America criss-cross-applesauce on the wooden floor of a dark room, his beautiful face buried in pale hands, his entire body shaking with silent sobs...

"Alfred!" He calls, knocking on the door.

He hears America sniffle, then asks, "Wh-What?" In a quiet voice.

"Alfred, please, let me in."

For the next thirty seconds, all is silent, and England is about to call out to Alfred again, when the door suddenly swings open, revealing America, whose head is down. "I'm sorry..." America sniffles, "I can be quieter..."

England walks into the room, stands in the middle, and opens his arms wide, flashing a small smile of reassurance.

Slowly, America moves forward, opening his arms also, he pulls England into him, as if protecting him from something awful, he buries his face in the crook of the Brit's neck.

"I love you," America whispers.

Suddenly, a searing pain shoots through England, and he shoves America away from him, keeling over onto the floor, clutching his stomach.

"Kingsley?!" America cries, dropping to his knees and grabbing England's shoulders. "What is it?! How can I help?!" He asks.

England doesn't reply, just gasps, his eyes stinging. If it wasn't for America holding his shoulders, he wouldn't even be kneeling by now. The pain was almost unbearable—if it wasn't for America, he would have given up already.

"I—Love—You—Too—" England wheezes, falling forwards into America, tears now falling freely.

England felt as though he was being viciously torn in half, over and over again. His vision was blurring, as if he had just taken off a pair of much needed glasses. Desperately, he clutches America, the searing pain now feeling as though it were shooting straight through his heart, shattering it into a million tiny pieces. Then, an invisible hand places a vise-like grip around his throat, and he's choking, all while being torn in half and having his heart shattered. An unknown force lifts him upward by the collar of his jacket, he's being held in midair—

A bling flash of light, and America is thrown backward. The pain suddenly gone, England cries out and throws his hands, which catch on America's.

Another flash of light, in which America throws himself into England's arms, and an odd sucking sensation, and then smell of fresh, clean air fill their nostrils. England, clutching America's hand tightly, looks around.

Suddenly, a woman with caramel colored hair is standing in front of them.

America screams, immediately moving in front of England.

"It's alright, child." The woman says in a sweet voice. Gently taking England's wrist, she pulls the surprised Brit out from behind America and says, "Hello."

"Why is he here?! Is he—Is he—Is he dead?!" England asks, his eyes (now green, though he doesn't notice) widening in panic.

"_England?_" America asks, his blue eyes wide in disbelief.

* * *

**KUFUFUFUFUFUF! Extremely short chapter, but it just _needed _a cliffhanger!**

**IMPORTANT: The first five reviewers for this chapter may request a one, two, or three-shot story from me! It can be with any pairing, or no pairings at all, or whatever, you know? Also, it can be any genre! Just give me a brief description in the reviews or PM me what you want your story to be about! I don't know if this is an honor to those who are the first five reviewers, or a punishment... XD Please make me write a story, I'm bored! XD **

**Also, PLEASE TAKE MY POLL! **


	12. Good to be back

"Wh-what—? I thought you were...! I thought...! What?" America asks, moving closer to England and seizing his wrists.

"I am, but—"

"You _were_." the Protector interrupts England with a smile.

England, brushing the comment aside, continues, his _real _eyes staring into America's. "But I love you so much it hurts! And I want to be with you forever, even if I have to die first! And—And I'd do anything for you, even take on the form of another for two months just to have another chance at your heart!"

America blinks, "You don't mean to say...?"

His entire face crimson, England nods, "You mean more to me than life itself, America. And... I want you to be with me forever and ever!" He exclaims, grabbing America's shoulders, "I need you in my life. All of them," He adds, remembering this would technically be his second life.

"But—I—You—" America sputters.

"I-It's probably weird to hear this coming from someone you thought was dead, but... But it's true... And before you ask, I swear this is real. I mean, I hope it is... Because otherwise I just built up all that courage to tell you and it won't even matter!" England smiles lightheartedly.

America just gapes, a million thoughts running through his head. _England was standing right in front of him. Alive. And he was Kingsley the entire time. _

And then, his heart is leaping into his throat, and his legs are leaping out from underneath him, and he's screaming and falling through the clouds that were solid only a moment ago. Immediately, he screams England's name, throwing his arms out in a desperate attempt to grab something before it's too late. When he doesn't grab anything, he simply screams, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes, from both the harsh wind and utter terror and hopelessness at the though that he can't stop England from hitting the ground, and they fly off into the wind, floating behind him and disappearing into nothing.

He flips over in midair and sees England falling, but he's smiling and laughing, a sight America had rarely ever seen, and one that he enjoys greatly. His face is lit up like a Christmas Tree, his brows furrowed in a pleasant way, his emerald green eyes sparkling, his arms open wide, as well as his mouth, and a laugh like tinkling bells is echoing all around America in a pleasant way.

England throws his arms out wide and yells, "I LOVE YOU!" at the top of his lungs, staring straight at America. And he laughs again, that beautiful laugh, and reaches out, getting a solid grip on America's tie and pulling the younger into his arms.

"WE'RE GOING TO DIE!" America screams against the wind.

"No, we won't, love." England says, smiling.

Sure enough, as soon as the words leave his lips, they abruptly stop in midair. England, smiling at America's bright red face, picks him up bridal-style, rights them as though he's standing on the floor, then they fall another inch and hit the sidewalk of New York City.

America, his entire face even redder than Romano's tomatoes, stares in pure shock and disbelief as England sets him down. "B-B-But—That—What? I-I...!"

"I love you, America."

"I love you, too but—"

England cuts America off by grabbing his waist, dipping him backwards and crushing his lips to America's. The American's eyes widen in shock, but he quickly responds to the kiss, wrapping his arms around England's neck, letting the Brit support his weight completely. England smiles into the kiss, entangling his hands in America's hair, at the same time pulling them back into a standing position.

America pulls away, staring at England with a shocked expression.

"I've missed you." America states.

England simply smiles, taking America's hand in his. "It's good to be back."


End file.
